


Slow

by sarilikefairy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: CW: You Go Too Fast For Me Crowley, Demon Who Thinks Too Much, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), One Shot, POV Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarilikefairy/pseuds/sarilikefairy
Summary: Just because the world didn't end doesn't mean Things are automatically going to change between them...





	Slow

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to those who were personally victimized by "You go too fast for me, Crowley."

He wasn’t going to fuck it up. 

Yea, sure, they didn’t have to worry about Great Plans, hellfire, holy water, any of the usual nonsense for the time being. And yea, maybe it was the first time since they set foot on this stupidly wonderful rock that they didn’t have to worry about Great Plans, hellfire, holy water, etc. 

But that didn’t mean Crowley was just going to start assuming. 

He’s been playing the long game with this one and he isn’t about to screw things up just ‘cuz the world didn’t end. Just ‘cuz no one was watching. Just ‘cuz Aziraphale’s eyes are so blue and full of life and love and kindness and...staring at him expectedly. Shit. 

“Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“Are you quite alright?” 

Concern. Damn him and that irreproachable concern right along with him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I know Modernist literature isn’t exactly your favorite topic, but you usually at least pretend like you’re listening.” 

“Sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed and straightened out utensils that didn’t need straightening. 

“I like Fitzgerald,” Crowley ventured. Aziraphale lit up and continued with his disquisition. Crowley didn’t have the heart to specify he liked the man, not the writing. Never read a word the guy had written. Threw an excellent party though. Good times, the ‘20s. 

The meal continued. This time Crowley was moderately more successful at playing the role of dinner companion. Like his mind wasn’t still screaming at him to make a move.

_Take a leap._ _Go for it_. 

It wasn’t quite as distracting as you’d think. Sure, in the early days, perhaps a bit more so. But it’s been 6000 years of this. Crowley was usually very skilled at tuning it out. Ever present background noise. His tailor-made torture. 

That’s where his thoughts turned when Aziraphale had suggested an after-dinner walk in the park. More specifically, when Aziraphale had started walking unbearably close to Crowley. ‘Chilly,’ he had so-very-innocently said in response to Crowley’s raised eyebrows. Chilly. CHILLY. Angels don’t get CHILLY. 

Which brings Crowley back to the torture of it all. Because that’s what this was. That’s what it had to be. Part of the big stinkin’ Ineffable Plan. Must be. Crowley had fallen and this was his unique punishment. He’d been having too good a time on this planet. No way the Almighty was gonna let a Fallen Angel, a DEMON, have a good time. There had to be a catch. 

And what a catch he was.

“What’s so funny?” inquired said catch. 

He’s got to stop doing this. 

“Nothing.” 

“You were smirking!”

“Just...thinking about something I heard in your bookshop earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yea, some guy was looking at your first editions. Said Wilde was overrated. I was just thinking he should be so lucky you weren’t around to hear it.”

“Overrated??? Oscar Wilde. Overrated??? Now really this is exactly why…”

Phew.

But yea. Torture. Because they were now sitting on a bench and Aziraphale’s hand was on Crowley’s knee and what the heaven was it doing there?!

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

He probably just doesn’t realize. He can get like this when he’s in the middle of a diatribe. Forget himself. 

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Crowley knows these things by now. It’s been 6000 years after all. 

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

6000 years. 

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

6000 years and still too fast.

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Those stupid bloody words. Most days he hates them. Some days he doesn’t. Some days he’s grateful because that’s about the closest he ever got to a confession. Because if Crowley’s going too fast...that means he must be going too fast at something. And if he’s going too fast at something...there must BE a something. A something that there’s a right speed for. 

‘Or he just doesn’t like how you drive your fucking car, you idiot. 

See? Torture. He loves me. _Obviously._ He loves me not. _Why would he ever._ He loves me. _Clear as day._ He loves me not. _He’s an angel who do you think you are._ Loves me...Loves me not. That’s poetry, isn’t it? Maybe I could stop being so useless and actually add to this conversation. Browning was it? Or maybe it was just...flowers?’

“Did you just say… ‘flowers?’”

And there were those eyes again. This time looking at Crowley like he’s lost his damned mind. He has. But Aziraphale still doesn’t have to look at him that way.

“Er...yea, flowers.” Crowley looks around. They’re in a park, for someone’s sake, there must be...aha! “those flowers...they’re nice.” 

“You think the flowers are...nice?”

“Would you like one?” What the HEAVEN was that. IDIOT. 

But then again...Aziraphale is...blushing? Is he blushing? Do angels even blush?

“Well...I wouldn’t protest a good old fashioned boutonniere. Especially since those flowers really are quite...nice.” 

Why is Aziraphale SMILING like that?!

“R-right.” Crowley bends down to pluck a flower, trying to figure out what he’s going to do when he gets back up. Put it in Aziraphale’s lapel himself? No. Too fast.

He gets up and offers Aziraphale the flower, for the first time actually bothering to notice what it is. 

“Scarlet Geranium. Goes a bit better with my suit than yours. Could miracle it a different color, if you like.” 

Aziraphale takes the flower and places it in his lapel. “No, no. I like it very much the way it is.” 

There’s that blush again. Infuriating. 

He’s probably in on it, Crowley muses. Aziraphale’s an agent of God after all and if this is Her sadistic plan then surely it would make sense that the angel knows what his role is. That way he could be mindful of his job at all times, ever vigilant, make sure Crowley never has a moment of reprieve. 

That would be easier to believe. Would be easier for both of them, really. 

Too bad he knows it’s not true. Can’t explain it. Just a feeling. That’s faith for you. 

They’ve reached the car. 

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Crowley sighs as they get in.

If 6000 years is too fast, surely these past few weeks don’t make much of a difference. It’s just that the circumstances have changed and these weeks have felt like millennia and maybe now…

No. Shut it. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t- 

Oh. They’ve stopped. 

Aziraphale turns to him from the passenger seat. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got some excellent wine and I’ve even purchased some of your be-bop on vinyl.”

“Velvet Underground?” 

“Er no...AC/DC?” 

Crowley laughs. 

“You like them, don’t you?” Aziraphale continues. 

“Yes, angel. I like AC/DC.” His voice seeped with a fondness unfit for an agent of Satan. 

“Wonderful! You’ll come in then?”

“I don’t think I’d be good company.”

“You’re always good company.”

Why does he have to make this so hard?

Crowley tries again, “I probably just need some sleep. Raincheck?”

Aziraphale nods. He moves to open the door. Hesitates. 

“Aw, angel, don’t be so disappointed. We’ll do it soon. After that picnic, maybe.” He smirks humorlessly to himself. 

“Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“You’re going too slow for me.”

And without further warning, Crowley suddenly finds himself pulled over the console, being kissed by an angel.

Reprieve at last. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: In flower language, the Scarlet Geranium symbolizes stupidity :)


End file.
